Fatal Flaws
by alura05
Summary: Sirius is dead, but Harry discovers love - for a girl who's not who he thinks she is. Ron finds a secret talent, and Hermione has a secret past. Kidnapping, Love Potions, duelling and the works - but this time, Voldemort is not their deadliest enemy
1. Chapter 1

**Fatal Flaws**  
  
**Chapter 1  
**  
When he walked towards her that day, she was glad she had the support of the chair underneath her.  
  
"Ginny, can I talk to you alone...for a moment?" In his eyes she saw the same look she had seen in her brother's eyes for Hermione Granger, in her best friend Danny Staedler's eye's for her and in her own eye's, reflected off the cold panes of the mirror, for him. For years she had cursed herself for the glaze of longing that seeped through her gaze, cursed herself for driving him away embarrassed and cursed her stuttering voice and burning cheeks every time she saw him. But today, it was different. She appeared calm as she smiled up at him. Inside, a silent earthquake was trembling.  
  
She had a dream last night, in which he had said the same words in that same sandstorm voice. The thirst in his eyes was not unlike the figure in her dream. Last night, she had sashayed up to him with a predatory prowl and purred in his ears: "What about sugar?"  
  
Of course, in her dream, she did not have a spray of food stuck to her face. Next to her, Hannah Abbott calmly wiped her mouth as though she had not just spluttered at him in unflattering surprise.  
  
"Sorry Gin, "said Hannah handing her a tissue without taking her eyes off him. "Gotta go! _Loads_ of work to do!" With a wave and a grin on her face as though Christmas had arrived early – or a particularly juicy piece of gossip had been handed to her on a plate – she raced out of the library.  
  
They were left alone to talk.  
  
Later, as Ginny sped down the hallway to the Gryffindor common room, she realized that she should have imprinted every detail, his every word into her memory. All she could remember was her blurred version of what he had said and her fuzzy reply.  
  
By the time she had stumbled into her shared dormitory and recounted in a mystified voice what had just occurred, gossip was already raging around the school. Everywhere, people were nodding their heads at each other and saying 'I told you so', like they had known all along; like it was as expected as Blaise Zabini's weekly snog sessions or Luna lovegood's dreamy peculiarity.  
  
Of course it is expected, they say, Ginny and Harry are meant to be.

* * *

Harry walked through the portrait hole and stared.  
  
A roomful of grinning faces gazed back.  
  
Behind them, were several huge banners usually saved for Quidditch wins or House Championships. They usually depicted Malfoy with various body parts missing (One that had always been a favourite involved Malfoy and a particularly twiggy broomstick in various poses). Now, however, it read: HARRY AND GINNY: THE GOLDEN COUPLE. Another: CONGRADULATIONS, YOU DID IT! on which showed a dragon breathing fire at an extremely muscular version of Harry holding an 18th century looking Ginny in his arms.  
  
For a while Harry stared incomprehensibly at the banners while his housemates awaited his response. The spell was broken when the portrait door opened and Ron Weasley, Harry's best friend, stumbled in.  
  
"Oomph! What are you standing in the doorway for you git? I could've –"He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of the banners and blanched. "Harry? Ginny...?" He stood back and looked at Harry, hard, then grabbed his arm and dragged him into their dormitory.

The common room burst into a buzz of excited chatter.

* * *

Ron shut the door and whirled around to face his friend.  
  
"Alright Harry, what's the deal with my sister?"  
  
Harry, who had not expected such a hostile tone from him, could only stutter out his confusion. "What – What'd you mean?"  
  
"I _mean_, you don't like her, so what's this business about you having asked her out?"  
  
"But I _do_ like her."  
  
Ron let out an exasperated sigh. "You told me only last term that - quote: "No offence Ron, but your sister is just not the 'type' for me." And now, suddenly, after the summer break you find her devastatingly attractive?"  
  
"She is pretty but...."  
  
"So it's her witty charm? Her _smashing_ personality?"  
  
"She's got a great personality!" Harry said defensively. Whether it was to her defence or his own he wasn't sure. Ron glared at him. "Look, I don't know what your problem is with me liking your sister Ron, but I don't think it's fair."  
  
"My _problem_ is that you're _using_ her! Don't think I don't know about Cho. Oh no, don't deny it. I know you told us you were over her, but I can see it in your eyes. You're using MY sister to make Cho jealous. How _could_ you Harry?"  
  
Harry, who had expected to hear anything but what had actually come out of Ron's mouth, widened his eyes at the absurdity of his argument. He burst out laughing.  
  
"Why are you laughing? It's not a laughing matter Harry. This is my sister you're doing this to, and as a brother I have to do whatever is necessary to protect her – "  
  
"Ron, shut up!" Still wiping tears from his eyes, he took a deep breath and explained.  
  
Ron's eyes widened. "And all this time, she never said anything! And I'm her brother! She should have at least told _me_."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said with raised eyebrows, "just like you'll tell her everything about you and Hermione."  
  
Ron blushed right to the red roots of his carrot coloured hair. After being with Hermione for two months, he was still not comfortable with the word 'couple' or 'you and Hermione'.  
  
"We haven't done anything worth telling," he managed to growl from the depth of his throat. By this time, his ears were almost sizzling with heat. Suddenly a thought occurred to him and he threw a sidelong glare at Harry, "though I wouldn't know about you and Ginny...."  
  
Harry was suddenly very interested at the frayed edge of his sleeves.

* * *

The next morning, as the Great Hall filled itself with the usual half – lidded students dragging themselves to their respective House tables, Harry felt unusually cheerful. Last night, after Ron's recital of the 'Weasley's dating Laws', ("No alone-time in private, no dating without a _suitable_ chaperone – yep, that's me, myself and I, no touching at all, no unusual objects nearby, No showing her your magazine collection, no showing her your room, no showing her the Astronomy tower, in fact – no showing her _anything_ (glare)....") he had gone back downstairs to the common room, apologised for his unconventional behaviour and kissed Ginny on the nose, much to the annoyance of Ron. After the wolf-whistles and cheers had died down, Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had sat down to study in companiable silence. Almost companiable: Ron kept shooting them sidelong glances as though otherwise they would grab each other in a heat of passion and snog all over the table.  
  
Now, as Harry walked to the Gryffindor table, he swooped down and planted a kiss on Ginny's cheek. She smiled at him blushing hotly as he sat down beside her.  
  
"Hey...Harry, toast?" Around her, every pair of eyes stared across at them. Harry tried to ignore them.  
  
"Thanks," he said casually, as though the eyes had not suddenly swivelled in his direction.  
  
He bit into his toast, still aware of the curious looks not only from their own table but also from other houses. He even thought he saw Malfoy's minions, Crabbe and Goyle stand on tiptoes at the other side of the room trying to gauge what they were saying. A second later they were pulled back down again by a seething Malfoy. Harry would have been amused if he was not the subject of so much attention.

_Might as well give them something to actually talk about rather than stare at_, he thought dejectedly.  
  
"Ginny," he turned towards her, trying desperately to block out the beady eyes around him, all of whom were trying in vain to hide their stares by continuously shovelling bowls of porridge into their mouths.  
  
"Hogsmeade weekend's coming up, do you want to meet me for a Butterbeer or something?"  
  
Ginny let out a squeak and nodded, looking around awkwardly, warily. There was almost a collective sigh amongst the inhabitants of the hall as his invitation confirmed their rumours.  
  
The Great hall resumed its chatter, and Harry released a sigh of relief.

* * *

_Her hair, smooth and cool under his touch, entwined itself demurely between his fingers. As he snaked his hand through the fiery ringlets, he thought he heard her purr. It was a purr so soft that he felt it lightly brush his cheeks leaving his body tingling and hot.  
  
"Harry," she whispered, sitting up and staring at him with her wide eyes, " will you miss me when I'm gone?"  
  
He laughed at her, touching her cheeks lightly with his fingertips.  
  
"Of course, but I'll see you a week later. I'll be seeing you soon."  
  
"Yes," he saw her look away, not meeting his eyes, "but perhaps things will not be the same."  
  
He opened his mouth to answer, but there was nothing to say.  
  
It was not a question.  
  
He felt her lips on his neck and let his hands run along her back. But he could not forget the finality in those words, nor what they could mean._ __

* * *

Monday morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves dragging their feet into the dungeon for their first potions lesson – with the Slytherins. Somehow, the coldness in the Potions room had even more of a hostile edge than usual. The iciness seemed to emanate straight from the hard stonewalls. The ceiling appeared higher and even the grains of wood on the tables seemed sharper and more defined.  
  
What Harry noticed most, however, was the intensity of the glare he received from Draco Malfoy. Though their arch-rivalry was well - known throughout the school, never had the hatred been so direct, so forceful. Harry was so taken aback by Malfoy's fury, that he stood rooted to his spot, unable to tear his eyes away.  
  
"Potter!" Snape's oily voice cut into his thoughts, "As much as we'd all like to know about your secretly harboured feelings for Mister Malfoy, might I remind you that this is a potions class and not one for gawking like a dribbling idiot."  
  
Sniggers echoed through the dungeon, but Snape was not finished. "I would also like to remind all three of you that although Dumbledore has appeared to have joined your little fan club and has allowed you to join Potions _despite_ your lack of satisfactory potions' OWLs, I will NOT be allowing you any special treatment based on _your_ _overtly sized heads_." He hissed the last part and Harry bit back a retort, fuming inside. _How could he say that? After what has happened? After Sirius - how could he – _but Snape had already continued.  
  
"...I have also set rules for the academically inept of our class..." from the corner of Harry's eyes he could see Hermione's face growing hotter by the second. Whether it was from anger or humiliation, he was not sure  
  
"...These rules include: An automatic suspension from the class after being three times late, automatic suspension if ever a piece of homework is handed in late or not at all, and,"he glared at them, his slitted eyes fixed onto them like burning coals, "_dismissal_ from the class altogether after three detentions."  
  
Then his mouth curled into a sneer.  
  
Harry, afterwards, would always remember that sneer and hate him for it. No matter how many times Snape has saved his life, Harry would always remember that look on his face and vanish whatever fuzzy feeling he may suddenly have for the man, and go back to loathing Snape with twice the intensity. _He knows,_ Harry thought then, he knows why I have to do Potions, and yet he doesn't care. _Not only does he not care but he will do all he can to prevent me. To stop me from being an Auror. To stop me from avenging Sirius. Does he hate me so much? Or does he hate Sirius?_ Harry straightened his shoulders and firmed his chin._ I won't let him stop me._  
  
When he finally sat down at a desk with Hermione and Ron, he could feel two pairs of eyes narrowed towards him and imagined the glint off the edge of a knife.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat by the fire, staring broodingly into the leaping flames. In front of the flickering background of red, orange and yellow, Harry Potter's face lingered before another, more delicate, and slightly paler figure appeared alongside. The dancing flames encircled her face, outlining her beauty with a dangerous edge. The expression on her face, he tried to forget, but it had stuck with him ever since that very first potions lesson of the year. It had stuck with him ever since Potter walked into the room and Draco noted the immediate flicker of her eyes and the tension in her gaze. _No_, he corrected bitterly, _it was before that_. The first time he had seen that look on her face was the day after they had arrived at Hogwarts after the train ride.  
  
_He heard the news first from the First Years; the ones who's sneers and smirks had not yet embedded themselves onto their faces. The little ones who still believed that everyone was equal; that everyone was treated on the same level despite the competition between houses. Those who still smiled when approached by another House and its members.  
  
"Hi," they cried out excitedly to each other, to the Hufflepuffs from across the room and the Ravenclaws whom they had befriended on the train. "We just heard from Jake and Sonja, from Gryffindor that...."  
  
All craned their necks in anticipation as the news spread itself to every outstretched and eager ear. Draco, too, unashamedly pricked up his ears. Any gossips about the Gryffindors were useful to exploit.  
  
"Harry Potter has a new girlfriend..."  
  
At this Draco frowned with immense irritation. Of course it would be about our favourite little midget, well what's our potty up to this time? Stutter out a wee little lie?  
  
"...Ginny Weasley – you know that Fifth Year girl? The one over there...yes that red head. He's with her." They pointed and they stared, as though star- struck.  
  
"I wish I was Ginny Weasley," a young girl in blonde pigtails swung her head back dreamily. "It's like a fairy tale. I mean...I don't think she's very rich. I heard Daddy talk about her as 'one of the Weasleys' so I know they aren't one of us, but now...she's with the famous, rich, handsome Harry Potter. It's like she's the poor princess, and he's the prince that saves her...." Draco snorted in disgust. A prince indeed, and a gawky, idiotic, bigheaded one at that. He turned his head and caught sight of _her_ bright red hair. She was standing only a few steps away from him, staring wide-eyed at the first Years, frozen. He walked towards her, his legs laden with lead, each step numbing his senses. Here's a princess, he thought, a smile playing on his face.  
  
"Hey..." he whispered softly when he reached her, touching her arm. Her skin felt rigid under his touch. Her gaze was still burning into the group of little gossipers in the corner. He took a step back, looking at her properly for the first time. Framing her delicate features were spirals of curls bouncing from her shoulders. The rest were cascading down her back, straight and wispy. Her grey eyes, that had always reminded him of his own, were now in a whirl of rage and pain, stricken with loss and a throbbing sense of intense longing. Her soft pouty lips were moist and open, her breath coming out as light puffs of white vapour escaping into the atmosphere and disappearing.  
  
She did not appear to have seen him.  
  
That was when it struck him and he realised what she had done. He saw stretched before him the consequences of her actions. It was a dangerous game to play.  
  
To fall in love with the enemy._

* * *

"Ok, Ron, let's take it again. Make your moves ambiguous. Pretend you think they'll go for the right hoop when you really think they'll go for the left. Right, let's go! "  
  
The quaffle sped across the pitch in a blur of colour. Hermione smiled grimly to herself as she watched the game, her mouth tightening into a grimace as the players shot towards the goals. Personally, she thought that Quidditch was the most horrible sport ever invented - even worse than the flobberworm races she had once been to (in which the game ended with a draw, because no one could be bothered to keep track of which flobberworms were which). No, Quidditch was much worse because it was so dangerously fast. She could never stop herself from worrying about who would be next to crash onto the ground with a bone-crunching crack. She worried about all the players, of course, but her hands would always start clutching her face whenever a ball got near Harry or Ron. Any ball...whether it be the Quaffle, or worse, the bludgers.  
  
Practices were slightly less tense than the actual matches. Sometimes she wonders whether she would actually drive herself insane with worry if ever she had to stay indoors during a match. On the day of the matches, she was as nervous as the players themselves, and often felt like Mrs Weasley, mothering her boys with a fussiness that felt sickening, even to herself.  
  
Loud raucous laughter wrenched her eyes away from the pitch and to the stands.  
  
"Slytherins again!" Ron spat out, his eyes narrowing. The Slytherins had taken to haunting their practices, claiming permission from Snape to 'supervise' House practices and to give them 'pointer'. Of course, it was not against the rules for them to be there. The area around the Hogwarts Castle was everyone's property, free to roam, as they liked. However, common courtesy, adopted as tradition by other houses, was to allow each team the freedom to practice in private. But then again, no one could accuse the Slytherins of having a decent shred of human morality. They prided themselves in their lack of such 'muggle-ness'.  
  
Harry just rolled his eyes and turned his back, ignoring them. He bade the team to do the same.  
  
"Ok, very good, Ron. But let's do it again. This time, focus on your Swerve technique: your reflex turn. The team could do with some slow practice as well so let's all go slow ok?"  
  
Hermione felt her lips curve again into a smile, although this time, it was wide and full, filled with an odd sense of pride. Harry really was a fantastic captain. She remembered his face, taut and anxious, when he was told the news.  
  
"What if I can't think up good plays? What if they don't like my ideas? What if we _lose_?"  
  
Hermione had shaken her head, rolled her eyes and, like a dutiful friend, she had patted Harry on the arm.  
  
"You'll be great Harry. Besides, you'll have Ron's support!" Instead of being reassured however, his eyes had widened further with a look of such horror that she almost laughed aloud.  
  
"Ron!" he had whispered hoarsely. "What if I have to criticize Ron? What if I need to tell him off? How is he going to handle _that_? Hermione, just kill me now." Then, with a dramatic despairing flop, he had dropped into a chair and placed his face in his hands.  
  
Now, as Hermione watched him criticize Ron without seeming to, and watched Ron realise this with a gratified smile, she suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the troll that had pulled the trio together with a binding force far stronger than any normal friendship. _I will treasure it_, she thought fiercely, _if ever it is broken, I will do everything in my power to pick up the pieces and make sure it is never shattered again._ Of course, now that she and Ron have become 'more than friends' – although he had never said the 'L' word, ANY 'L' words, and have refrained from any demonstrations of their 'more than friends' status – the trio's bond had changed ever so slightly. But Harry didn't seem to mind...Harry has Ginny now.  
  
Just then, a shriek resounded in the air and snapped her attention back to focus.  
  
Ron had just come crashing down onto the hard dry earth.  
  
Hermione was at his side in a second. Behind her, she heard the sniggers she had come to associate with the boils of hatred that had so often followed. Without even looking, she turned and slapped the pale pointed face with the trademark smirk that had turned towards her.

* * *

"Hermione! I'm okay!" Ron moaned for the hundredth time as Hermione twittered around him like a mother bird. But, of course it was useless. Trying to stop Hermione from doing something she really wanted to do was like trying to persuade Snape to wash his greasy hair. If you valued your life, you'd keep your mouth shut, or run the other way.  
  
With a martyred sigh, he gave up and settled back into his chair. As Hermione bustled around trying to find cuts on his body for Madame Pomfrey to mend, he decided to change the subject. Besides, there was something he wanted to ask her.  
  
"Hermione...." He began, not quite sure how to start.  
  
"Yes?" Perhaps she had noticed his uncertain tone, because for some reason, she stopped what she was doing and looked at him with an unusual glint in her eyes. If he didn't know better, he would have thought it looked hopeful, even expectant.  
  
"Uh..." he mumbled, slightly unnerved by her gaze. "Stop that! You're making me nervous."  
  
"Nervous?" Her smile deepened and this time, she actually pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. "Is there something you want to tell me Ronald Weasley?"  
  
_This is weird_, Ron thought,_ only my mother uses my full name and that's only when she's mad. Hermione doesn't look mad. In fact...she looks kind of, well...thrilled.  
_  
"Yeah, do you know what happened during the summer between Harry and Ginny?" At this, she scowled and turned slightly away from him. 

_What is it now?_ He was getting irritated by her mood swings – especially the odd ones. She has been moody a lot lately – more often than usual. Once he had told her that she had better tie her hair up during potions or Snape would decapitate them if he found traces of hair in their potions. She had looked ready to spit nails and called him an insensitive bastard. He thought he had said it very politely but obviously not. Although, now that he thought about it, she had been wearing her hair out a lot before then but after that incident, it had been back to the usual ponytail. Maybe Snape had had a chat to her about it too. Smug git, no wonder she's been in bad moods. It's all his fault.  
  
"All I know about _Harry and Ginny_ is that they had been exchanging letters over the summer. And that _Harry and Ginny_ had realised their secretly harboured feelings for each other and resolved it the _mature way_!" She said between clenched teeth and he saw her face getting redder by the second.  
  
"You mean, you mean you think that they have...?" He spluttered in horror.  
  
"No! I meant that they are holding hands in public, that they have kissed if only on the nose and cheeks IN PUBLIC, that they are not afraid to say the words 'I love you' to each other! That they ARE MATURE ABOUT IT" Ron had to edge his chair away from the red-faced witch who by then had worked herself up into such a state that Madame Pomfrey came rushing in with a frown on her face and a half brewed potion steaming in her hand.  
  
"No exciting the patient! He needs quiet and rest!"

* * *

The morning of the Hogsmeade weekend, Harry surprised, and rather annoyed everyone by running around to every curtain-drawn bed wearing an ensemble of different outfits.  
  
"Do I look alright?" He kept shouting into their faces, causing most people to jump from their beds, look around startled before realising that it was only Harry and falling back beneath the covers.  
  
When for the tenth time, "What about this shirt?" echoed around the room, it was Ron who finally gave up on trying to sleep, gave Harry a thumbs up and a "real spunky, mate" before flopping back into bed hoping to have gotten rid of his friend once and for all. Harry, who had been wearing Quidditch boxers and an oversized Dudley T-shirt at the time got the hint and refrained from disturbing the dormitory further. He picked up his favourite shirt off the floor, his best robes and the smallest pair of Dudley's jeans that he could find and tiptoed into the bathroom.  
  
He was in a very good mood, with the minimum amount of nerves and an overload of excitement. He was going to see Ginny and actually talk to her, _really_ talk to her for the first time in, well, what felt like a _long_ time. He couldn't wait to see her, to feel the surges of happiness bubble inside him and her reciprocated emotions in her eyes. He could not wait to hold her again, to press her lips against his own and feel the soft and smooth touch of her hands on his body....  
  
He shook his head vigorously, causing tiny water droplets to disappear onto the shower screens. He was not supposed to think of that. He had promised.  
  
As he stepped outside and wrapped a towel around himself, he was once more reminded of her slight, lithe body and the curve of her hips.  
  
Perhaps another cold shower will do....

* * *

The light of the Three Broomsticks felt warmer and brighter than the last time he had been there. Harry, himself, felt lighter as he walked to a table holding Ginny's small hand in his. So far nothing much had been said but Harry didn't mind. They had never really had much idle talk – never talked to fill up time...well that was before. Perhaps he should not dwell so much on the past. Every now and then he needed to remind himself that many things may have changed. But she was here now. She was here with him.  
  
"Butterbeer?" He asked, reluctantly letting go of her hand. They sat down at a corner table, away from prying eyes.  
  
"Sure, thanks Harry." She smiled up at him and he almost skipped to the bar.  
  
"Two Butterbeers please." He asked. Madame Rosmerta spotted him and smirked wickedly.  
  
"Girlfriend, Harry?" Her tone was playful and naturally curious. After all, she was a barmaid, and all sorts of gossip get to her ears. When someone told her Harry Potter was with Arthur Weasley's daughter, she was all but intrigued. She looked to Harry for confirmation.  
  
"Perhaps," he felt bold and decided to try his hand at teasing. "Perhaps not."  
  
She laughed loudly, and handed him his Butterbeers. She didn't need words to tell her the truth. She could see it from the extra shine in Harry's eyes and lightness in his voice. Suddenly she felt wistful. Young love – puppy love.  
  
When Harry returned to the table, he saw the awkwardness in her hands as she brought the Butterbeer to her lips, and in her eyes as they darted everywhere but at him. _So much has changed between us,_ he thought,_ there would never have been such awkwardness if I hadn't opened my stupid mouth.  
_  
"Ginny..." he tried, unable to stand the silence, unable to stop himself from doing what he had promised he would never do. "Ginny, I know I promised - I know we promised never to talk about it but...."  
  
Ginny looked up at him, clearly confused and puzzled at his bizarre choice of words. He had been waiting for her permission before really breaking the promise, but perhaps he had not made it clear enough.  
  
"Ginny, I've wanted to say that I'm sorry about what had happened over the summer...I'm sorry for whatever I did. I know I did something wrong...but whatever it is, I hope you would forgive me." He looked down at his hands as he spoke, while her words replayed itself in his head.  
  
_"I don't think this should continue. We're worlds apart. It'll never work out."  
_  
He heard over and over the clear, sharp edge in her words and the way he had felt his heart open up and swallow the words, like poison, like an infinite disease. By the time he looked up, Ginny was looking hopelessly distressed.  
  
_I've disappointed her,_ he thought horrified at what he had done, _I hadn't kept my promise and now she's going to break up with me...again._  
  
"Harry," He heard her voice, as his heart banged its way through his ribcage. "Harry, I have no idea what you're talking about." He felt relief as much as an overwhelming sense of unhappiness. _She's giving me another chance. Another chance to keep my promise._ Another voice cut though his thoughts, cold and flint hard. _She's denying your time together. She wants to forget it all. Is it likely she actually wants another relationship?_ Harry, however, blocked out the second glacial voice of reason and gave her a weak smile.  
  
"Don't worry Ginny, I was...was just talking about the how you sounded a little distant these few days so I thought I had done something wrong, but," he gave a little laugh, "obviously not."  
  
"Of course not Harry, you've never done anything wrong to me."  
  
Her voice, he thought, sounded insubstantial and wispy. He fell silent and so did she. The rest of the evening was filled with small talk and he felt confused - with her, with himself and with their relationship.  
  
It was a relief when she finally pronounced, in a rather tight voice, that they'd better check on her brother and Hermione.  
  
"With a bit of luck," she said, looking away from him, "they're actually holding hands."

* * *

That night, Ginny lay on her bed, flicking distractedly through an age-old copy of Witch Weekly. As she turned page after page without so much as a glance at its contents, her mind drifted to Harry: Harry and the _terrible_ nightmarish date. In the morning, she had been positively sure that nothing was going to go wrong. Well, she had hoped nothing would go wrong. She had given herself a silent pep talk and by the end it all, was happily convinced that Harry liked her because she was beautiful, talented and witty.  
  
A deep, frustrated sigh rose from her chest as she dropped the magazine onto her lap and laid her head in her arms.  
  
By the time they had paid and left the Three Broomsticks, she had risked a sneak at Harry and was shattered by the look of loss and distraught confusion on his face. She felt it keenly, like a blunt blow on the chest after which the pain resonates but the wound disappears. She had told herself not to be silly, but could not stop the tears from streaming down her face after Harry had bade her a quick peck goodnight without so much as a glance in her direction.  
  
The door to the girl's dormitory swung open and a voice whispered her name tentatively.  
  
"It's all right Hermione," Ginny called out wearily, untangling herself from her bed. "The others are still out."  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Astronomy Tower?"  
  
"Charms room," Ginny grinned despite her depressing mood, "Astronomy Tower's all booked out."  
  
Hermione looked at her for a moment and sat herself down on Ginny's bed beside her. She seemed unable to speak for a moment, and Ginny, not completely clueless when it came to relationships, could guess what was on her mind.  
  
"Still nothing?" She asked gently, putting aside her worries for her friend. Hermione did not have many girl friends. Until that fateful year that Ginny had opened the Chamber of Secrets, Hermione had no girl friends at all – no one she could really talk to. Ginny remembered the day Harry rescued her from the Basilisk's lair with the terrifying aura that resonated the waves of power swirling around him. She remembered seeing Tom's eyes in Harry's as he told her everything was going to be all right, and remembered herself cowering away from his reassurances. It was Hermione who had consoled her then, while the rest of the girls in her year level shied away from her and refused to meet her eye. The older girl had spent hours telling her stories about what she, Harry and Ron had been through the year before and told her things about Tom that made his black eyes and cold smile appear less menacing. After that, her nightmares diminished and the two girls became fast friends.  
  
Now, as Hermione shook her head with an air of frustration, Ginny felt a stab of pity and anger at her brother's blindness.  
  
"Hermione – "she began, but the other girl cut her off quickly.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it Gin. Tell me about your day with Harry."  
  
So she told her. The words pulled from her mercilessly as she relayed the events of the day, bewildered and upset.  
  
"...So that's it," she finished, her voice disappearing into a hollow mist, "I don't know what happened, and I don't know what he was talking about. He acted as if something happened over the summer, but...." She stopped abruptly at the look on Hermione's face. She was looking at Ginny with an odd glint in her eyes, and a slight frown. It was the face she wore whenever a particularly easy arithmetic question would not work out and she could not figure out why.  
  
"Ginny," she said, her voice sounding somewhat strangled and heavy. "Do you still have the letters you've received from Harry during the summer?"  
  
Ginny had thought the evening could not turn out to be any more perplexing than it already was but obviously she had no idea. She cocked her head to one side and stared blankly at Hermione.  
  
"What letters?"


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter 2**

****

_The air was filled with the tangy smell of lemons and grapefruit mingled with the bitter aftertaste of smoke and burnt leaves. The tiny tendrils of smoke snaked itself through the house from the open windows. _

Mrs Peterson's son must be playing with fire again_, he thought nonchalantly as he walked into his room to escape the fumes._

_He stopped when he stood at his door and saw her standing there, in her simple white shirt and short blue skirt. A smudge of dirt smeared across her nose made him think of her brother._

_"Hello, Harry," she said, looking sheepish. _

_Harry continued to stare, taking in her very short skirt adorning a body that had developed quite a bit over the summer. She was no longer the little girl who had so often tagged along, staring at him with wide, awestruck eyes. She had the shapely body of a woman and when she walked up to him, her hips slightly swaying, Harry saw that she was seductively innocent, unaware of her new attributes._

_She gave him a baffled look, pulled him into the room and closed the door quietly. Then she sat down on his bed as though it were the most natural thing to do and patted the spot beside her. He didn't sit, but continued to look at her, puzzled._

_"What are you doing here? Is Ron ok? Has something happened?" _

_She didn't say anything, just shook her head. He didn't know why she was here…in his room. He didn't really feel the need to know. Part of him felt indignant and resentful that she could just come waltzing into his life and assume that he would welcome her with open arms. The other part of him wanted to wipe the frown from her face and smooth out the tension in her lips. _

_"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have come…." She said turning away from him to face the door._

_For reasons unknown to himself, he pulled her back and kissed her._

_Long tendrils of smoke crept through the window and circled lazily around them. The air smelt of roses and the promise of rain._

* * *

Hermione had spent the entire morning searching for the two of them. She had barged into almost every boy's dormitories (causing indignant cries and an assortment of boxers to come flying at her from all directions) and had swept through the Great Hall several times in case they had already gone to breakfast. She even braved the cold and ran out onto the Quidditch pitch wondering if they were stupid enough to be flying in this weather. The icy wind had crept into the openings of her robe, pinching, biting and nipping at her skin. But they were nowhere in sight.

In the end, she found them where she had least expected them to be: in the library. When she snuck up behind them, she saw that they were completely engaged in….

"Plotting your own murders?" she asked dryly.

They spun around rather quickly, their heads narrowly missing each other.

"Oh, hi Hermione," Ron said, rather breezily "you've seen us working on Divination before…."

"Which is probably why I'm not surprised…" She rolled her eyes and pointed at his untidy scrawl. "Don't you think you've become a little repetitive? You've been falling off the Astronomy tower since Third Year."

Harry snorted but Ron just shrugged. "As long as _she_ doesn't notice. She should be the one praised for _her_ consistency." He put on a high-pitched misty voice, "'oh you boys are so brave! So many misfortunes and not a blink of an eye!'"

Hermione, despite her mood, could not help but burst out laughing at Ron's horrendous impersonation. _Honestly! _

By the time she'd sobered up, she had remembered why she needed them so urgently in the first place.

"Harry…Harry I need to ask you about Ginny. I need to know what happened over the summer."

Harry, who was still spluttering with mirth, did not allow her words to sink in.

"What? Ron that was _good!_" He laughed again, but stopped immediately when he caught Hermione's tense expression. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"Harry…." She hesitated. _Is this the right place to tell him? Is this the right time to tell him? _Hermione, who had been brought up to favour truth above all other virtues, decided that if she didn't tell him now - she never would. And it _was_ a matter of urgency. "Harry…I don't think those letters you received over the summer holidays were from Ginny."

This caught his attention.

"Hermione? What are you talking about?"

She felt dizzy with apprehension. How could she explain it to him? How could she explain the _feeling _she had, ever since Ron told her about those letters, that it didn't seem like something Ginny would do? How could she explain her intuition upon seeing Harry and Ginny together for the first time, that something was wrong? How could she explain it without seeming like the jealous friend who was bitter about her own static relationship?

"Ginny never wrote those letters. When I asked her, she had no idea what I was talking about. _She never wrote those letters!"_

"Hermione," he let out a little laugh, "is that all? I thought it was something big."

She could not believe what she was hearing. _Did he just brush it off?_

"Harry, are you listening to me? Do you know what this could mean? Someone impersonated Ginny. If you can't smell Dark magic in this –"

"Dark magic! Hermione, relax will you?" He still seemed at ease, laughing at her. Ron's eyes darted between them uneasily. "Ginny and I promised not to tell anyone. That's probably why she lied to you. I guess I had already breached that promise by telling you without her permission. But she didn't know that. I'll tell her you're trustworthy." He smiled reassuringly, as though that was that: an explanation worth a thousand misgivings.

Hermione was not convinced. She saw the expression on Ginny's face. She saw that dreadful look of distraught confusion in her eyes when she had made herself relive the moments of that 'first date'. It was not possible that Ginny; sweet, innocent, honest Ginny could have faked that. The world's best con artist could not have faked that moment of pure emotion. But Harry hadn't seen it. This was worst than she had thought. How could she make Harry see what was so blatantly obvious?

"Harry…listen to me," She tugged at his arms urgently. "I know dark magic…I can feel it. It's all over you. Someone's done something to you! You have to see through the façade!"

"It's all over me? Then why didn't you tell me when you saw me on the train? Why didn't you tell me when we met in Hogsmeade? Why didn't tell me until now if you're so goddamn intuitive Hermione?" She had never seen him so angry. It was so sudden, the torrents of rage that streamed from his beet red face.

"Because I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure, Harry. You have to believe me. But now…." Yes. Now she could feel it stronger than ever. Especially when he was so angry. She felt it radiating off him, a growing shadow, like black crows encircling with claws like tendrils of smoke.

She looked back up at him and was startled to see the hurt and pain in his eyes.

_He feels betrayed…._

" I never knew you to be nasty Hermione. I never knew you to use other people's relationships against them just because your own is not going well. I never knew you to be bitter…but I guess I do now." With that, he retracted his claws and walked away.

She closed her eyes and felt them stinging against her eyelids. _I knew this would happen. _This was what she had feared it would come down to. She knew, yet she could not stop herself. A hand touched her shoulder lightly.

"Hermione," She kept her eyes tightly shut, to keep the tears from spilling and sliding down her cheeks. "I'll talk to him." Ron's gentle caressing tone was all that she could bear. Only when she heard his footsteps fade away, did she let herself melt into the waves of her despair.

Because she knew Harry was in trouble. Because she knew she could not help him.

Because she knew, in some ways, that he was right.

* * *

He didn't know what Harry was doing.

In fact, he didn't know what _he_ was doing either, stalking his best friend like this. Somewhere in the Laws of friendship there must be a rule against following friends without their awareness – despite it being done with the best of intentions. What he was doing must scream betrayal. But he didn't care.

Ron Weasley was not particularly demonstrative when it came to emotions. That did _not_ mean however, as Hermione had charmingly put it, that he had the 'emotional range of a teaspoon'. There were times when he would feel particularly sensitive and every harsh word would leave a wound.

Perhaps today was one of those days, or perhaps Harry had been uncharacteristically unfair and bluntly close-minded. In matters of love (of which Ron knew he needed much drastic coaching), people tended to act rather rashly. But that did not excuse those words that had lashed out so cruelly, causing Hermione to collapse onto the Library floor and shrivel up like an age-old wrinkle, worn and defeated. Before he had walked out of the library and away from her, he had turned back hesitantly, wondering whether she should be left alone. The girl he had seen in her place, however, was sobbing into her hands as though she desperately wanted to stop but could not find the strength to do so. He had wondered about human frailty then, wondering how a few words could make you feel so cold inside. No…love could not, and _should_ not, excuse the abuse of such power.

He saw Harry walk out of the castle and frowned. Harry knew better than to be outside the protections of the Castle alone. After what Dumbledore had said….

But Harry had already disappeared and Ron, who would not leave him alone now, could only follow. He saw Harry walk toward Hagrid's hut…and past it, heading towards the Forbidden Forest. His heart stopped. _What in the blazes does he think he's doing, walking into the Forest like this? And without his Invisibility Cloak! _He shuffled around hesitantly wondering what to do. Wondering what Hermione would do. _Stupid git! _With a shaky breath, he followed, just as he had always done ever since he was eleven; following Harry into the depths of danger, watching him seduce Death so innocently.

When he reached Hagrid's hut, he broke into a run, hoping he could catch up with Harry before they met the big and hairy…again.

_Stupid git!_

* * *

She waited as she did every week. In her soot-black cloak, she was almost completely covered; save the curved tips of her ruby-tinged fingernails and the emerald glint off the pendant that lay serenely in the curve of her throat.

She was waiting for someone, as she did every week, to make her weekly assessments. _Be proud,_ her parents had said,_ you have been chosen._ And she had been. She _had_ been proud. But that was back when everything had all been so much simpler, pure black and white, clear-cut and distinct. Back then, she knew the difference between love and hate; knew the difference between happiness and contentment. She loved chocolate. She loved her mother's dresses and her father's gifts. She loved popularity, boys and makeup. She loved discovering the powers she had, as a young seventeen-year-old beauty exploring the realms of her sexuality. But she hated her mother's critical eyes, and her father's disappointment. She hated the fact that she was a girl when they wanted a boy, an heir. She hated the Gryffindors for all their 'nobleness' and 'honour'. And she hated Harry Potter.

Then things started to go awry and her world came apart. She could no longer see the world with wide schoolgirl eyes and see its innocence in bright technicolour. The world was no longer innocent; it was never that. She began to love and hate at the same time, feeling contentment in her sufferings, yet hating the pain. It gnawed at her and squeezed at her throat until she could no longer feel her own fingermarks on her neck and no longer felt the tears on her lashes.

But she had been happy…and that was the worst of it.

Now, as she looked up from her daze, she saw a flicker of movement and a hooded figure rose from the forest floor.

She opened her mouth to greet him, but was immediately silenced by the look on his face. With an intense predatory gaze, he looked past her. His lips curved into a malicious grin and he slinked past her, his footsteps charmed to silence. She followed his gaze, bewildered, and what she saw when she turned, made her face freeze into a mask of indifference.

She saw a flash of black hair and a plunging depthless green from behind dark rimmed glasses. She saw a flurry of movement and felt the pendant burning painfully on her skin. She looked down and was startled to see it alight with a pale green fiendish glow. _It is in use…but doing what?_ She took in his glassy, feverish gaze, and the hooded man's triumphant glee. She took in his tangled stumbling limbs and the man's lazy movements. Suddenly, she knew. She saw the pale redheaded boy rushing through the trees, reaching for his wand and wondered why he even bothered. But then, heroes never learn.

"_Stupefy"_

* * *

From afar, the centaurs watched the scene take place with a remorseless disinterest. Only one seemed remotely uneasy.

"We probably should have helped," said Bane with a twinge of guilt. "He'll need our help."  
  
"The Boy Who Lived will survive for now for he is strong," the leader, Sophos, responded as he gazed up at the stars. "The other we do not know. The stars are rather secretive about him. Perhaps he is not important."  
  
"No, I think he is." Bane could not shake the nagging feeling that the answers were not in the stars tonight. However, he was but a boy, and the others regarded him with as much, if not more, contempt as they did a mortal man. "It is he, the Weasley offspring, that I fear for the most. There is something powerful brewing in the boy. Perhaps the stars are secretive for a reason. Remember Adonis? We did not know about him till it was too late."  
  
As expected, they laughed at him. "What do you know about Adonis? He was before your time, little one. Go home, perhaps your mother is worrying"  
  
So he turned away, his shoulders hunched irritably. They did not know everything. They did not know, for example, that he had The Gift. They did not know, that the stars told him things that others could not decipher. One thing, however, was for sure.  
  
The end was coming...soon. Whether it ends in the triumph of good or evil, even the stars could not know. Perhaps that is why that night, the darkness quivered so, and the air filled itself with the scent of ashes and tears.  
  



End file.
